


Coming Home (To Aching Heads and Creaking Bones)

by JEAikman



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, ot3 cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:13:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JEAikman/pseuds/JEAikman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon wakes to a throbbing headache and the feel of someone holding him. This in itself was not unusual, but somehow it didn’t feel like a post-drinking headache so much as a “someone-tried-to-cleave-my-skull” type of headache, and the arms that are holding him are familiar – as in they had been up close and personal with his throat at their first meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming Home (To Aching Heads and Creaking Bones)

Napoleon wakes to a throbbing headache and the feel of someone holding him. This in itself was not unusual, but somehow it didn’t feel like a post-drinking headache so much as a “someone-tried-to-cleave-my-skull” type of headache, and the arms that are holding him are familiar – as in they had been up close and personal with his throat at their first meeting.

 

“You awake, Cowboy?” Illya’s voice is a low rumble near his ear – it brings to mind images of waterfalls cutting through dense forest, of boots crunching through snow. Napoleon doesn’t yet have the wherewithal to speak, so he just gives a weak nod against where his head rests upon Illya’s shoulder.

“How is the pain?” Illya asks, his voice so carefully soft, which Napoleon’s aching head is grateful for.

“Is not so bad” Napoleon replies in what he thinks is a hilarious attempt at a Russian accent. Illya snorts, shaking his head, but he brushes his hand carefully against Napoleon’s temple, where it hurts the worst, and Napoleon hisses in a breath.

“Is a little worse than not so bad, yes?” Illya decides, and clearly nothing Napoleon says is going to change his mind, so he just shrugs, content to close his eyes again – until Illya pinches his side. “No sleeping until you answer questions, okay Cowboy?”  He can’t be bothered looking up, but he doesn’t need to, because he can feel the Russian frowning through the back of his head.

“Fine,” Napoleon sighs, petulant and childish, he knows, but his head hurts and sleeping right here in Illya’s arms is surprisingly comfortable. “Ask away,” he makes a vague motion with his hand that Illya interprets as “get on with it”.

 

“What is your name?”

“Napoleon Solo”

“Age?”

And so the questions go on, until Illya is satisfied that Napoleon does not suffer any memory loss beyond the immediate circumstances of his headache. Illya obliges to fill him in.

“We chase target through park – youths are playing game of baseball, but with strange plastic ball – one of them hits ball too hard and too far, and it meets your forehead, you collapse, I catch target, I am better agent, the end.”

 

“What a wonderful bedtime story” Comes a dry voice further away. Napoleon looks up to see Gaby hovering in the doorway, a plate of stew in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

 

She kneels next to them, where Napoleon is leaned against Illya, who is sitting with his back to the wall, all but cradling Napoleon in his arms, and Gaby can see the concern in his frowning face. She smiles over Napoleon’s head at him, aiming for reassurance, before handing the stew to Napoleon.

 

“Eat this, and then you have some pills and go to sleep.” And because he can’t resist, because it feels a little like vengeance for when she insulted his risotto, Napoleon has to reply:

“Smells like feet.” Gaby looks like she wants to slap him for that, but thinks better of it and kisses his forehead instead.

“Not so expensive feet” she whispers, smiling into his hairline, before kissing Illya on the cheek as well.

 

“Make sure he eats at least half of it, then give him the painkillers. Wake him up in an hour and check him again.” She instructs, before returning to the kitchen to clean up. Illya nods, his serious gaze focused on the back of Napoleon’s head. He watches, hawk-like, as Napoleon begins to eat – infuriatingly slowly, but Illya will not rush him, not when it will only make the American frustrated with himself.

 

He hands Napoleon the pills and makes sure he swallows them, and when he feels the other start to lean on him more heavily and his breathing even out, Illya picks up his partner and lays him gently on the bed, before settling in next to him – after all, the mission is wrapped up and all they have left to do is take care of each other, and that’s what they intend to do.

 

Gaby joins them not long after, and settles in on Napoleon’s other side, kissing the livid bruise forming on his forehead softly.

“Sleep well, liebling.” She murmurs, her arm wrapping around him, meeting with Illya’s across Napoleon’s waist.

 

Illya lies awake, even when Gaby doses off, and he looks at his watch – he will have to wake Napoleon in half an hour to check on him again, but now he can watch the peaceful way in which his darlings sleep – Napoleon with his mouth half open, leaning into Illya’s warmth, and Gaby, like she is made of pasta, wrapping herself around them like spaghetti around a fork. He finds he is glad for every misadventure that led them to this, and in his vigil he takes comfort in Napoleon’s steady heartbeats and Gaby’s snoring breaths.

 

“Sleep well, Радость моя, Ангел мой” Gaby stirs, and Napoleon has somehow managed to get an arm around each of them – something settles in Illya’s chest that he did not know was missing. This is it, he thinks – what home must feel like.

 

And he wouldn’t trade it, or them, for anything in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> So this movie has reeled me in and after having seen in three times in the space of a week, I can safely say it's my newest obsession. I love these three so much and I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it
> 
> Written for a tumblr prompt: Gabby and Ilya patching Napoleon up after he’s been attacked with a whiffleball
> 
> No pairing was specified so I decided to go for ot3 goodness :)


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